Gifted
by the-sockmonkey
Summary: Dr. Heidi Bishop is an empath, thought to be an asset to the BAU. She is a long-time friend of Morgan and attracts the attention of Dr. Reid. When a case dredges up events from Heidi's past, Spencer tells the young psychologist about his own, and Heidi finds herself becoming increasingly intrigued by him. Rated M for violence and explicit content in later chapters. Reid x OC
1. Preface

**Preface**

2010.

Shannon hated to hold his hand in public. Her small, white fingers would slip into her oversized sleeve, and she would cross her arms over herself. When they did kiss, it was in the back of her father's car, the highway speeding by them. She would always be the one to stop, placing each hand lightly over his shoulders, pushing him away. She was inconsistent, unpredictable, and had a habit of breaking up with him one week and repairing their relationship the next.

Shannon was beautiful and a flirt. Most of her friends were boys. Though she wore clothes to hide her figure, boys looked at her, and that made him furious. He lost many friends because of Shannon.

"I think that guy likes you," he would tell her.

And when she hung out with her guy friends, he would make it a point that she was his. But Shannon was a madwoman who couldn't be tamed, taught, or controlled. So he had to show her.

Shannon was in the hospital for almost two months after that. What had he done? Could he be with her now, he would hold her, comfort her. But he heard what the kids at school were saying:

"What kind of asshole puts a girl in a psych ward?"

When he asked for information about Shannon, people would ignore him, but he had methods of finding out. Hacking into Shannon's best friend's Facebook account, he asked her brother what had happened.

Shannon had suffered a mental breakdown and had tried to kill herself with a pair of scissors.

He never saw Shannon again. She switched schools and the last he heard of her was someone mentioning she chopped off all her hair.

Every day she was gone, even after he knew what happened, he would approach someone she knew, and ask them:

"Have you heard anything from Shannon?"


	2. Empathy

"Let God consume us, devour us, unstring our bones. Then spit us out reborn." _Donna Tartt

Present Day.

Spencer Reid stopped at the mile mark, leaning his head between his knees. He sank into the grass and took his pulse: 172/minute. The mile had taken him approximately 20 minutes. Meanwhile, Morgan was lounging against a tree, arms crossed over his chest.

"Hey, pretty boy," he called, "I told you we need to put some meat on those bones."

"Shut up." Reid's hair was plastered to his forehead, falling into his eyes.

He wiped his face on his arm and took a swig from his water bottle. He let out a sigh, and with a groan, stood up. He opened the water bottle and poured the rest of the water over his head, shaking out his hair. He reminded himself he needed to get it cut. The tank top Morgan had lent him was making him quite uncomfortable; a few female joggers glanced at him and laughed. A few male ones, too. Over by the coffee stand, he could see Hotch and Beth talking. Spencer squinted. He wasn't used to seeing Hotch so relaxed; he had his hands on his hips and his body was fully angled toward Beth. With a pang, Spencer wished the same for himself. He glanced at his bag, knowing Thomas Merton was tucked away in one of the worn pockets, waiting for him.

"Well, look who it is!" Spencer nearly jumped out of his shorts at Morgan's shout in his direction.

Morgan's gaze was focused over his shoulder, at someone else. Reid glanced over and saw, to his surprise and unwelcome excitement, a petite, slight woman jogging toward them. From the looks of her, she was about five-foot-four. Her reddish hair was tied back in an elastic band, and she wore a tank top with a matching pair of shorts. Short shorts. Her legs were long and toned, as were her arms. Spencer swallowed anxiously, looking down at his running sneakers.

"Derek, hey!" The woman had to stand on her tiptoes to hug Morgan. Her top lifted, showing a sliver of pale flesh. "How have you been?"

"You know, same old, same old," Morgan replied.

Spencer began to lope toward them, trying to ignore his jumpiness.

"That bad, huh?" The woman shoved Derek in the shoulder, laughing. She glanced over at Spencer, looking him up and down. "Who's this?"

"This is—" Morgan started.

"Dr. Spencer Reid," Spencer finished, outstretching a sweaty arm.

The woman took his hand; her grasp was loose, and her body wasn't entirely angled toward him. "I'm Heidi Bishop. Doctor."

"Hotch mentioned something about a forensic psychologist" Spencer noticed she was the one to pull her hand away.

Heidi nodded once, her mouth set, and pulled a sweatshirt over herself. She looked very young, no more than twenty-eight or twenty-nine. Hotch appeared behind her, seeming to dwarf everyone in the crowd.

"Bishop, I hope you've packed a small bag," he said, glancing at everyone. "Briefing in twenty minutes. Don't be late."

* * *

Heidi thumbed through the photos on the tablet in front of her. It was difficult, especially for someone with her ability, to stomach these photos: women hung in trees, their arms spread, hands each nailed to a branch. It looked like a noose was hung around each victim's neck, and each woman had the same general appearance: brown hair, blue eyes.

Heidi had what she liked to call "perspective-taking." In the real world, in Agent Hotchner's and the FBI's vocabulary, she was an empath. She was hyper-aware of the people around her, specifically their deep-seated emotions. The person had to be in the room for her to pick up their energy, but each person had an empathic "scent," something that differentiated them from others. Morgan's friend this morning had a very strong, overbearing energy, and she had a headache from it. She guessed he suffered a trauma not a long time ago, and had suffered a loss even more recently. His energy was the kind of energy that always threw Heidi for a loop: this doctor's energy was heavy and unstable, while Derek's indicated he was more rooted in reality.

Someone sprinted into the room and sat next to her. The headache flared and she winced as Derek's doctor friend took a seat next to her. Heidi noticed there was a scar on his neck. He eyeballed her for a second, but she shot him a glare and he turned away, clearing his throat.

"I know that the loss of Blake last spring is a particularly difficult subject," Aaron started, "but I want to take this time to say that she is doing well. She is with her husband and has found a job as a professor of linguistics at Harvard University. Meanwhile, Section Chief Cruz has introduced a new position on the team: forensic psychologist. Taking that spot will be Dr. Heidi Bishop. Dr. Bishop was interviewed and selected by JJ, who believed her empathic abilities to be an asset to our team. Please welcome her. Garcia, you may begin."

Garcia stared, open-mouthed at Heidi, who sensed the same energy she sensed when she saw women with young children. Garcia was the motherly type; her presence soothed the headache, but only slightly. Derek's doctor friend seemed to flash his own beacon at her, burning a hole in the side of her head.

"Three women have been found dead in the Boston suburbs this week," Garcia started. "Each was shot in the back of the head, hung in a Christ-like manner, with a noose around the neck. The noose was tied post-mortem."

"It's a bowstring knot," David Rossi said from his seat. "Boy scout, perhaps."

"It's actually relatively easy to tie a bowstring knot," Morgan's doctor friend piped up. Heidi noticed his energy shift into the intrigued; he put his whole body into stating this theory. "The unsub isn't necessarily a boy scout. I actually learned to tie one from a tutorial on the Internet. There are literally thousands of websites that—"

The doctor yelped and Heidi moved her arm to dodge his coffee cup, which he'd knocked over. Great. Brand new white shirt. Looking at her, he mumbled, "Sorry."

"Any sign of sexual assault?" Morgan squinted at the pictures.

"No." Garcia's energy shifted into the fearful.

"I would attribute that to the Crucifixion-esque way they're displayed," JJ replied. "The Unsub had a religious upbringing, I'm guessing."

"Religious upbringing or not, the victims could be sisters," Hotch tore his eyes away from the photos and scanned his team. "The Unsub has a specific preference, which means these women are more than likely surrogates for someone he knows. It's only a matter of time before he goes after the original."

"The original trigger did something to set this guy off," Heidi said. "Maybe he used to date her, and they broke up. Or maybe that, combined with another event. We have to look into his past, see if there's anyone that stands out."

"Which means she only has a certain amount of time before he seeks her out," Hotch finished. "Wheels up in thirty."


	3. Headache

The jet was spacious, allowing plenty of legroom. It even had its own coffee maker in the back. Heidi took one of the Styrofoam cups and poured herself black coffee. Taking a sip, she felt it run through her, easing the pain in her head. She pinched her nose between her thumb and forefinger, massaging it.

Spencer walked into the room, noticing Dr. Bishop slouched against the wall, hand on her forehead. Her brow was knit, and she was shaking her head back and forth, breathing heavily. She began to massage her temples; her head _thunked_ against the wall, and she let out a long sigh.

"You okay?" He was hesitant to approach her. He counted the seconds it took for her to respond. It took the average human being less than a second to respond to stimuli, even less for the brain to process that there had been a stimulus in the first place. But a full thirty seconds passed and Dr. Bishop still had not responded. "Dr. Bishop?"

She jumped and made a noise. The guarded, cold expression returned almost immediately. She had noticed it was him, felt relief, but then had closed him out. That was unusual, even to Spencer, who noticed he only observed that type of behavior during investigations, and not from his colleagues. "Oh, it's you."

"Are you okay?" Spencer pressed. "Do you need some Advil? You should probably take only one. You look like a bit of a lightweight. We can stop by a pharmacy once we hit Boston. Actually, I think I have some in my—"

"Agent Reid, I'm fine." She put her hand up, physically closing him off, and walked away.

He couldn't help it; a swell of dejection snaked through Spencer's chest and stomach. He looked after her.

"Actually, it's 'doctor,'" he called.

She put her hand up again and took a seat by JJ.

Spencer sipped his coffee, leaning against the counter. Morgan sauntered up to him, stifling laughter.

"Bit of a toughie, isn't she?" Morgan looked after her.

She was in a conversation with JJ, who interacted with her easily enough. Spencer thought that maybe she was more comfortable with women, but she had seemed relaxed enough around Morgan. Rossi leaned toward her; Spencer saw the back of his head. Agent Bishop came away laughing. She was relaxed against the seat, sipping her coffee.

"I want to show you this video." She took her tablet out of her bag. "This cat loves to stick his head in boxes."

Spencer was no more intrigued by cats in boxes than a bear by a calculator, but still he ambled toward them. Unfortunately, the remaining seat was taken by Hotch, who was poring over files.

"Garcia'd love that," JJ remarked. Spencer cleared his throat.

All three of them looked up. There was a pause; Dr. Bishop busied herself with an eBook.

"Spence, hey," JJ said softly.

"Just in time." Hotch looked up. "I've already briefed the others. You and Bishop are headed to the coroner's office to examine the bodies. Dave and JJ are talking to the victims' parents and friends. Morgan and I are headed to the crime scene."

* * *

The coroner was a tall, balding man whose energy was a subtle, slight pressure. Heidi was so thankful for the relief that she nearly stood behind him.

"Ligature marks indicate they were held for extended periods of time," he said. "Possibly simultaneously. Each of them has the same tan line on the left hand…"

The coroner shuffled away, followed by Spencer. Heidi crossed her arms and circled the table on which rested the first victim.

"Rings." Spencer examined her left hand. "These victims were either engaged or married."

"He removed the wedding rings before he killed them," Heidi said, glancing over the report. "None were found at any of the scenes…" She glanced at the bodies. "This confirms Hotch's speculation. We're looking at surrogates."

Spencer whipped out what looked like a cell phone. Heidi heard, "Cave of wonders, who dares disturb my slumber?" She turned away, smiling.

"Yeah, Garcia, I need you to do a search. Keep in mind that these criteria are very strange. I want you to look for brown-haired, blue-eyed young women in their mid to late twenties. Cross reference that with either marriage certificates or engagement announcements."

There was about a minute-long pause before Garcia let out an explanation, and the coroner jumped. "Badabing! You've found the lamp…one woman matches your search criteria. Her name is Shannon Haines. She is twenty-one years old and engaged to a Nate Garroway."

"Anything on the fiancée?" Reid pressed.

"He's a graduate of Emerson College…now he's a producer for a local news company. He is a diabetic, and judging by his transactions he really likes Diet Mountain Dew and Chinese takeout."

"No history of violence?"

"Clean. This man is like the Golden Boy of Boston. If there were a vibe that screamed 'NOT AN ABUSIVE BASTARD,' he would have it."

"Okay, thanks, Garcia. Can you send Dr. Bishop Shannon Haines's information? I don't have a tablet like everyone else."

"Already done. She should be hearing a ping very shortly. PG out."

Sure enough, Heidi heard the tri-tone sound from her bag. She glanced through the information, stumbling upon something that made her chest go cold.

"Take a look at this." She pointed the tablet in Spencer's general direction.

Spencer removed his glove and squinted at the screen. "We need to get this to Hotch. Right now." Turning to the coroner, he mumbled something and was rushing out of the room.

Heidi followed, stuffing the tablet back into her bag.


	4. Profile

"Hospitalization in early 2010." Spencer nearly bowled over the detective, who shouted at him in a thick Boston accent. "He psychologically and emotionally abused her and ended up putting her in the hospital for six weeks."

"Reid—" Hotch started.

"See, people overlook psychological abuse because it can't be seen, but the effects on the mind are quite profound. I was actually reading a case study on it; people are going as far as to claim psychological abuse has the same, if not worse, aftereffects that physical abuse has: paranoia, PTSD; the abuser practically conditions his victim to-"

"Reid!" Hotch nearly shouted, and everyone went quiet. "Garcia already sent me the information. We've identified Shannon Haines's engagement as the stressor. We've also found something else: Boy Scout badges."

Hotch pulled up a photo on his phone. "We found the badges at every crime scene, along with an etching of an eagle."

Spencer glanced at the photos, thumbing through them. The badges were placed unusually low; the Unsub would have to be a midget in order to place them that low to the ground. He briefly considered that the Unsub might have stooped, but that was not conducive to the profile they had so far: a narcissistic sociopath who wanted everyone to see his work. If he could, the Unsub would have lit the trees on fire. Then he caught something etched into the trunk of each tree: an eagle. Rossi had been right.

"Hotch, look at how low the badges are placed," Spencer blurted. "I think…Rossi was right. The Unsub's an Eagle Scout, and I think he's using his troop to help him with his signature."

* * *

Heidi waited with Derek, while Spencer near sprinted toward Hotch. It was raining, and the field office had an anxious, up-tight atmosphere. Heidi asked Derek if he'd found anything at the crime scenes.

"Boy Scout badges. Every tree within a three-foot reservation had at least three of them. Crime scene investigation said they weren't there when the bodies were found. The Unsub must have revisited the scene."

"He's gloating," Heidi said. "There's a good chance you've already talked to him."

"Yeah, we're on that." Morgan glanced out the window. "I'm keeping tabs on any suspicious behavior. We've got a few candidates; Garcia's running 'em right now."

Derek unlocked his phone and showed Heidi the list of names. With a wave of nausea, Heidi realized she recognized one: Levi Roush.

* * *

2008

The snow melted away on March 12th; Breen had been in the hospital for ten days. Heidi sat in his room, watching the news coverage. They were calling this the most brutal hate crime since Matthew Shepherd. A surge of white-hot anger billowed inside of Heidi; it was her older brother they were talking about. She and Breen were best friends, and had been since he'd heard her first cries.

Heidi gripped Breen's hand; she could hardly see his face through all those tubes. She felt heaviness snaking through her stomach and chest; Breen slept most of the day, but when he woke, he often woke screaming. When the police had questioned him about the man who'd approached him, Breen had said it was a guy in a mask.

Breen had come out to Heidi not a week before he had been brutally beaten and left to die outside a nearby gas station and convenience store. Heidi could feel it: something was not quite right with Breen; he carried himself in such a way that was off-putting to the keen eye. Breen had been more fortunate than Matthew Shepherd; one of the employees was unlocking the place and found him tied to one of the gas kiosks. But still, Breen was likely to have scars all over his body.

About four years later, Breen had confessed he knew the man who had beaten him. Levi Roush had removed his mask only to tell Breen that he wanted him to know who killed him. Levi had threatened that, if Breen should survive, he would come for him a second time.

At the time, Breen was living with his boyfriend in New York City, but his voice had shaken with the tremor of the nightmares that had plagued him for almost half a decade. Heidi, then a student at the FBI Academy, has kept her brother's secret to this day.

* * *

Present Day

"Levi Roush," Heidi said, pointing to the name with a shaking finger.

Derek put a hand on her shoulder. "Heidi, what's wrong?"

"Call Garcia," Heidi replied, "and tell her to dredge up anything on a Levi Roush. He's who you're looking for."

Without waiting for an answer, she turned from Derek and went for the nearest open office. She sat down, leaning her elbows against the table. She put her head in her hands, smoothing her hair. A figure at the doorway made her reach for the gun in her upholstery.

"You've gotta stop doing that," she said as Dr. Reid walked into the room.

Dr. Reid closed the door behind him and sat beside Heidi. The headache washed over her, and she leaned back in her seat, shaking her hair out.

Spencer audibly swallowed before continuing. "Garcia pulled everything on Roush. You were right, Heidi. Hotch is gonna give the profile shortly. Nice work."

Spencer watched Heidi lean forward. He expected her to do one of three things: slap him in the face, get up and walk out of the room, or both. With his wear on her patience, it wouldn't surprise him if she had an outburst. But when Heidi looked at him, her gray eyes were no longer guarded. Spencer bit his lower lip, which he noticed he had a habit of doing when he was anxious. The sensation calmed him for about ten seconds before he had to do it again. Licking his lips had a slightly longer effect, but in the context, even he realized it may be taken the wrong way.

"Levi Roush tried to murder my older brother," Heidi started. "Breen is very lucky to be alive. I'm sure Garcia dug that up, too."

Spencer set his lips, matching her gaze. "She did."

Despite the headache, Heidi found Spencer's earnest eyes comforting. She reached out and touched his arm. He flinched at the contact, but made no move to pull away.

"Thank you." She smiled. The headache was starting to lift. "And I'm sorry for my behavior earlier. Your energy was…abrasive."

"That explains your migraine," Dr. Reid still made no move to pull his arm away. "What…what about me is so abrasive?"

Heidi hesitated before continuing. "I think it's because you've got so much going on in your head. But you seem very pained, Dr. Reid. I think you've been dealt some pretty horrible cards."

Dr. Reid laughed, and the headache lifted. "You could, um…say that. And you don't, ah…have to call me doctor."

"Okay." Heidi found herself tightening her grip on the young doctor's arm. "Spencer."

Hotch not so subtly burst into the room, and Heidi yanked her hand away.

"Shannon Haines never made it to work this morning. Her fiancée reported her missing earlier this afternoon. You need to be ready now; we're ready to give the profile."

* * *

"The UnSub, or 'Unknown Subject' we are looking for is a white male in his early to mid twenties," Hotch began. "He is a narcissist, craving attention and verification, and has had a long-standing obsession with a young woman he either knew or knows well. The women he has killed thus far have been surrogates for someone he believes is the original trigger. He probably knew this woman during his teen years; they could have dated or been close in some way. We believe the original trigger is Shannon Haines, and her engagement to Nathan Garroway is the stressor."

"The nature of the kills and the rope found on the victims, along with other evidence, lead us to believe that our UnSub is part of a Boy Scout organization." Spencer starts throwing himself into his theories, gesturing with hands and arms. "He would be in a leadership position, such as an Eagle Scout, as this position would offer him the verification he lacks within himself."

"There's also a very good chance he's inserted himself into the investigation," JJ continued. "It would be easy for him to blend in. You may have already interrogated him. He would want to be part of this; the media publicity would give him more of the verification."

"The reason he needs this verification," Heidi began, "is because he's lacking in some way, most likely appearance, physicality, and self confidence."

"So, you're saying 'look out for an ugly guy with confidence issues?'" the detective from earlier snorted. "You're looking at the suburbs of Boston. I think those are about the only guys we get."

"Which is why it's important that you keep tabs on people that volunteer information," Heidi interrupted. "He hunts within these three towns: Waltham, Newton, and Needham. He has not once ventured into the city, which tells us he's not comfortable there. We have officers posted in those three locations; it is also imperative that we put Ms. Haines's safety as our first priority."

"In this case," Hotch concluded, "we do not have time on our side. Shannon Haines has already been reported missing by her fiancée, and if we do not act now, Shannon may die. Time is of the essence. Thank you."

* * *

The fire alarms began to sound almost immediately after Hotch finished. Heidi was one of the first out of the room, sprinting into the foyer, followed by JJ. Smoke was already beginning to slither through the building. Heidi got on her hands and knees, crawling her way to the nearest exit.

Something locked around her right ankle and yanked her backwards. She skidded along the floor and into the arms of a masked man, the same masked man who had terrorized her family. Before she could move or scream, he'd slammed her head against the wall and, already faint from smoke inhalation, Heidi lost consciousness.


	5. Execution

**Disclaimer: I'm moving the rating up to M because of the violence and the language in this chapter. I'm also posting a trigger warning; this chapter is violent and graphic and I want to make sure my readers are comfortable. If you're uncomfortable, feel free to skip this chapter.**

* * *

Spencer strode back into the ruined lobby, Bishop's credentials in his hand.

"Guys, I found her creds." Morgan and JJ looked up; Rossi was examining a dent in the wall. "Any sign of her?"

"Signs she struggled." Rossi pointed toward the hallway.

A trail of blood led to the exit door. "JJ, did you see anything?" Spencer asked.

"She was standing right next to me. She dropped to her knees and started crawling through the smoke. I started to do the same, but then something yanked her away. She was gone so fast, I…I looked, but it was too smoky to see."

Spencer examined the trail of blood; it started at the dent in the wall and went to the door. There was at least a tablespoon's worth, if not more. If the UnSub had struggled with her here, then he must have done something to subdue her. Reid studied the dent, its shape, calculating circumference, mapping out equations. The imprint was about the size of a human forehead.

"Guys, I think I know what happened," he started. "I was calculating the circumference of the dent. The UnSub bashed her head against the wall and dragged her from here."

Spencer began to follow the blood trail, growing more frantic as he reached the parking lot. Sure enough, there were skid marks on the pavement.

"Guys, these tire tread marks aren't deep enough for a truck or a van. The Unsub must drive a small car." Reid scuffed t the markings with his shoe. "If that's the case, he probably put Bishop in the trunk."

"Where do you think the UnSub would take her?" JJ asked.

"Where he's holding Shannon," Spencer stated, studying the threads in his jacket. "Both Bishop and Shannon went to the same private high school in Waltham. He's taking them back to where he thinks it began."

"Roads are bumpy out in the suburbs here." Rossi followed the treat marks with his eyes. "Waltham's a good distance away. He'd have to give her a longer lasting sedative. Chloroform, maybe?"

"With a bumpy ride like this and the possibility of the Unsub's reckless driving," Spencer started, "she'd get jostled around quite a bit. There's a good chance she's sustained more injuries: broken ribs, bruises, maybe even dislodged teeth. With the possibility of smoke inhalation and a concussion, plus the fact that she lost a lot of blood from the head wound, she may not have much time."

* * *

Heidi knew the headache was real this time. She tried to protest against consciousness, but the pounding in her forehead was too acute. Her body ached all over; she guessed she had a few broken ribs, too. She cracked her eyes open and looked around her. She was in a gymnasium of some sort…there was a mural on the wall. Through the fog in her mind, Heidi studied the mural: she could make out a huge white shape. She squinted, and her head flared. She almost cried out, but began coughing instead; she thought she tasted blood. She tried to move her arms, but they were jerked up above her head, tied at the wrists to the bleachers. Her legs were tied taught at the ankles; she was beginning to lose circulation in both her feet.

She was cold. Gooseflesh had broken out on her arms and legs. Her midriff, from the air puffing up against it, was exposed too. She was in her bra and panties. Hadn't sexual assault been ruled out of the profile? Weren't the Boy Scouts in Roush's troop just cubs?

_Study the white shape_. She tried to stave off panic, but as her eyes began to process the shape, she found that increasingly difficult to do.

The white shape was a horse, the mascot of her old high school. The mural was covered in a sheen of mold and grime; the high school had been shut down for some time now, but she knew it. She had spent many an afternoon here, doing sprints and stretches for her cheer squad.

_Rock the V, rock the I, rock the C-T-O-R-Y! VICTORY!_

There was movement beside her. Slowly, ignoring the protest from her head and neck, she turned and saw another young woman lying next to her. The woman looked six or seven years younger than Heidi; she couldn't be older than twenty-one. Her hair was dark, and she gazed with tearful blue eyes up at the rafters.

"Shannon?" she rasped, looking at the woman.

Shannon turned toward her, terror in her eyes. "How did you know my name?"

"My name is Heidi Bishop. I'm with the FBI. My team is coming."

"He'll kill us." Tears dripped onto the wax wooden floor.

"Who's he?"

"They." Shannon's voice shook. "Levi Roush and his Eagle Scout cult following. Levi's devout Catholic, but the others…they took your clothes off."

A metal door creaked open, echoing around the room. Heidi's eyes snapped shut, a technique conditioned to second nature during her teenage years. She could hear at least two boys in the room; their shoes squeaked against the floor, and their laughter caused a tightening in her throat.

"Roush, man, you switched it up. Brought a ginger too? This'll be good."

Someone leaned over Heidi, and she heard metal scraping on metal, the kind of noise a knife makes when releasing from a switchblade. Something sharp and cold pressed up against the left side of her neck, and she flinched away.

"Not so fast, pretty thing." Heidi felt the indentations of the boy's shoes on her left flank. He swung out with his leg and made contact with her ribcage; she felt a distinct crack.

Her eyes flew wide open and she let out a scream; the pain ricocheted up and down her torso.

"Whip, knock it off!" A scrawny, bespectacled young man walked into the room. "Don't do it here. This is my place."

"You're no fun, you know that, Roush?" the one called whip sauntered up to the scrawny one; the comparison was a grizzly bear to an underfed rabbit. "Fuck what your mom says. She's the one who locked you in the closet, remember?"

Levi's eyes rested on Shannon, who tried to squirm free. In the dim light from the windows high above, Heidi could see that Roush's eyes were the palest gray. His energy pressed upon her, dismal and dense as humidity. This was the man who tried to murder her brother and terrorize her family. Anger bit its way through her, and if her hands were free, she would have shot him. But the pain, coupled with blood loss, was making her weary. She felt blood trickling down her face and into her mouth. First case on the job, and they'd be carting her back to Quantico in a black bag.

"Hi, Shannon," Levi squatted down and leaned toward the other woman. "How have you been?"

He cleared the hair from her face. Then he cut her binds and lifted her into his arms. Heidi started to fade.

"What do we do with them?" the one called Whip asked.

"Cut the redhead loose. Take her out behind here and shoot her in the back of the head. No cutting, no organs, no mess. I don't want the boys involved in this one."

"Scout's honor, Roush." Whip leaned over Heidi. "Too bad for her. She looked like fun."

"Her brother was a lot of fun." Levi sounded like he was suppressing laughter. He looked over at Heidi, his light eyes cruel and fishy. "Before you execute her, show her the video I sent you. She'll like that."

Anger sliced its way through Heidi's throat. "You won't get away with it, you prick!" she rasped. Her throat flared.

The metal door slammed open, and Heidi dreaded that there were more boys coming in to toy with them.

"Levi Roush, FBI!" It was Morgan's voice.

Someone was at Heidi's side almost immediately. Though she no longer felt the headache, she felt the earnestness.

"Spencer?" she mumbled. "Is that you?"

"Levi, let the girl go and put the gun down." Hotch this time.

"I love her!" Levi's scream sent nesting birds screeching through the rafters.

"She has a life, Levi," Rossi started, "you wouldn't want to take that from her just because you hate your own."

"She's breathing." JJ's voice, from much closer. "Heidi, can you hear me? It's Agent Jareau."

"Jennifer…"

"Some of her ribs are broken. Spence, cut her loose."

She felt a warm hand underneath both her wrists, bracing her arms. She heard Spencer, with effort, slice through the binds. She fell backward from her slightly elevated perch; Spencer's arms were around her almost immediately.

"I need a medic," Spencer said into a walkie-talkie.

"She's got a fiancée that is very worried about her," Morgan continued, trying to coax Levi down.

Levi fired; Heidi heard the bullet splinter into the plaster wall. Levi's anguished screams echoed throughout the building, and Heidi heard JJ pull out her gun. There was a thundering popping sound, and Levi fell to the ground. Hotch and Morgan rushed forward.

Spencer removed his FBI vest and his sweater, leaving him in his shirtsleeves. He wrapped the sweater around Heidi. "Heidi, please tell me you can hear me."

"Spen…cer…he did...this. My...bro...ther..."

"Agent?" One of the medics rushed up behind him. "I need you to let go."

Morgan grabbed Roush by his hair, hauling him to his feet. He slammed the cuffs around the kid's wrists. "Levi Roush, you're under arrest for the murders of three women and the attempted murder of Breen Bishop."

"I know, I know. I have the right to remain silent," Roush droned. "Anything I say can and will be used against me in a court of-"

Morgan pressed his fingers against Roush's wounded shoulder blade, and Roush let out a high-pitched scream.

"Morgan!" Hotch yelled. "Enough. Get him to the car. He'll ride back with Dave and I." Hotch turned to address Spencer. He said quietly, "Reid, we'll meet you at the hospital."

Spencer watched as they covered Heidi in blankets and hoisted her onto a stretcher, bracing her neck. He followed as they wheeled her out of the gymnasium, and before any of the medics could protest, he jumped into the ambulance after her.

**I made some edits; Heidi's injuries have changed a bit, mainly because I found it hard to write her with a broken arm. I'm lazy, oops. Hope you enjoyed!**


	6. Revelations

Spencer sat in the waiting room, tapping his foot up and down. The sensation offered some comfort, but his mind conjured up situations that nearly caused him panic: bone marrow in Heidi's bloodstream, permanent head trauma, retrograde amnesia, splintered ribs, bone puncturing lungs, or the heart…

The surgeon appeared in the doorway. Spencer snapped his head up.

"She's stable," the surgeon started, "and she's awake. The ribs on her left side are broken, and she's sustained some minor head trauma, mainly bruising around the skull and eye sockets. There was some smoke inhalation and a collapsed lung, but she should be discharged by tomorrow. We want to keep her overnight to make sure the condition with her head doesn't worsen. The nurses are having some trouble calming her down; they think you might be able to help."

Spencer leapt to his feet immediately, his All Star Converse squeaking as he followed the surgeon down the hallway. Sure enough, he could hear shouting. Heidi was in room 122; the surgeon rapped on the door and one of the nurses opened it. Her expression was strained, and Reid could now make out what she was saying.

"No! I can't stay here!" Heidi was shouting. "He tried to murder my brother! I have to call my brother."

"Dr. Bishop, please calm down, or we will have to sedate you."

"No, please let me go! Get Dr. Reid!"

Spencer stepped into the room. "Heidi, I'm right here. Rossi contacted your brother; he's flying in from New York right now."

Heidi lay underneath at least three layers of blankets and was propped up on two pillows. A large bandage covered most of her forehead, and bulky bandages peeked out the left side of her hospital gown. There were tears flowing down her face, and her eyes were puffy and red. Spencer wanted to hug her, but then he remembered he didn't really like hugs.

"He's okay?" Her voice broke, and Spencer's chest twinged.

Spencer stepped forward, and the strained nurses watched him in awe. He knelt by Heidi's bedside. "Heidi, I need you to relax."

"Breen's coming? He's okay?"

"Do you want to see the message Rossi sent me?" Spencer fished his phone from his bag and pulled up the text, holding it in front of her. "He's gonna be here in less than an hour. Rossi called while you were in surgery. Now, I need you to calm down. Just relax. Can you do that?"

The room watched in silent awe; Heidi leaned back against the pillows, closing her eyes.

"Okay, Heidi, follow the sound of my voice, okay?" Spencer spoke softly, his finger hovering over the sedative button. "I'm gonna help you. I'm here to help you. Do you trust me?"

Heidi nodded once, and Spencer pressed the button.

"How did you do that?" one of the nurses asked. "We've been trying to get her to do that for the past twenty minutes."

"She's an empath," Spencer stood up. "Fundamentally, it's the energy she senses around her. You were projecting panicked energy, which made her worse. I made sure to project calmer energy."

"Is it that simple?" the surgeon looked Spencer up and down, as if assessing him.

Spencer nodded. Heidi was sound asleep, her features relaxed against the pillows.

"If you don't mind, I'd like to stay with her for a little while."

"Be my guest." The surgeon gestured for the nurses to leave the room, closing the door after him.

Spencer sat in one of the chairs, letting his bag fall to the floor. He rolled up his sleeves and realized that he was wearing the same shirt he'd worn during the incident with Tobias Hankel. He touched the scars near the crease in his elbow and wondered if that was what Heidi was referring to when she told him he'd been dealt "bad cards."

* * *

Something warm was wrapped around Heidi's hand. She flexed her fingers, and heard someone stir nearby. She forced her eyes open and sat up. Late afternoon sunlight was streaming into the room, but the energy in the room was heavy. She looked toward its source and saw that Spencer sat in a chair in the corner of the room, asleep. He had her hand in his, and Heidi felt warmth shoot into her cheeks. She jumped when he began to speak.

"I'm not weak." His voice was a pained mumble. "I'm not weak!"

"Spencer." She shook his arm.

"Yes. I confess…no, I don't want it I don't want it! Please, don't. No, no no! No…I'm not a Devil, I'm a man…my name is Spencer Reid…"

"Spencer!" Heidi shook his arm harder; he was so lanky she was afraid she'd detach it. "Spencer!"

He jolted awake, jerking forward in his seat. Heidi was noticing something in the crease of his elbow: puncture scars. From a needle repeatedly being inserted into the same area. She could count at least three or four of them, though his shirt could be hiding more.

He swallowed before speaking, "Heidi?"

"Spencer, you were screaming." Heidi wanted to get up and go to him, but she was attached to a bunch of wires, and her body felt like it had been hit with a tire iron.

"I-I was?" He stammered, chocolate eyes going wide. "What did I say?"

Heidi hesitated before continuing, "You said, 'I'm not a Devil, I'm a man.'"

She felt his grip on her hand and wrist tighten, and she winced. "I said…I said that out loud?"

Heidi looked at his puncture scars. "Spencer, what happened to you? Did someone do this to you?"

His features crumpled, and he leaned forward. He made a sort of choked sob before continuing. "A man did this to me. His name was Tobias Hankel." He began to tell her: he told her about burning fish hearts and being suffocated. The man, Tobias, was split into three personalities: himself, the archangel Raphael, and his father. Reid was in the cabin for at least a day, forced to accept Dilaudid. He was beaten, tortured, suffocated. He told her about a girl named Maeve, someone he'd loved. She had an obsessive stalker that got to her before he could. And he told her about Thomas Merton, the one thing he had left of Maeve.

"You could, um…definitely say I've been dealt bad cards." He said this with a pained laugh.

Heidi's monitor began to increase, and she let her hand fall away from Spencer's. She stared at him, eyes wide. The heavy, pent-up energy she'd felt around him began to unravel, and she put her good hand to her chest, but she couldn't stop the unraveling. Spencer was trying to hold himself together, but she could see he was cracking.

"Heidi," he choked, and she felt her chest go cold. "Heidi, don't leave."

"Spencer, I…I'm part of this team now. Why would you think I'm leaving?"

Spencer swallowed before he said something that sank right into Heidi's chest: "Because if my record holds," he started, reaching for her hand again, "you'll leave too."

Heidi fumbled for a grasp on his energy. He was trying to tell her that he…felt something for her.

She squinted at him. "You know about transference, right?"

To her surprise, Spencer laughed. "You know, uh…that's what I told the first girl who had a crush on me."

Just then, the door opened, and Breen stood in the doorway, flanked by a nurse. At first she could only see a silhouette, but then she saw his leather jacket. It was him. He was really here.

"Hey, Red!" He hugged her. "You doing okay? The guy from the FBI told me what happened."

"Bree, ow. You're crushing me."

"You're gonna be fine." He rumpled her hair and she laughed.

* * *

Spencer busied himself with a book in the corner of the room as Heidi and her brother talked. He stayed a while; by the time Breen left, it was dark and Spencer was hungry and finished with the book. Almost immediately after Breen closed the door, promising to let her know when he returned to New York, Spencer's stomach let out a gurgle.

"I'm gonna, um…go down to the cafeteria." He put the book on the table next to the bed, looking up at Heidi. "You want anything?"

"Tea?" Heidi looked healthier; color had returned to her small face. "I'll pay you back."

Spencer had already made it to the doorway. He turned his head and said, "Actually, you wouldn't be paying me back for tea. You'd mostly be paying me back for the packaging."

Heidi raised her eyebrows, wincing at the movement. "I can give the cup back, if you want."

Spencer laughed and told her he'd be back in about ten minutes. As he took the elevator down and stood in line, he started to tap his foot again. The line wasn't long; the average person took around forty-five seconds to order, and there were only two people ahead of him. He returned with a bag of almonds, two sandwiches, a large cup of coffee for himself, and Heidi's tea, feeling oddly uplifted.

She sat up when he returned; she was reading the book he'd left on the nightstand.

"You know, I didn't peg you for a Tolstoy guy," she said as he sat down and offered her a sandwich.

He pulled the chair up next to her. "I tried to find _Anna Karenina _in the original Russian, but I couldn't afford the editions they were selling online."

Heidi laughed. "Morgan actually told me you read _War and Peace _in original Russian in one sitting. Really?"

Spencer smiled, nodding.

Heidi whistled. "That's impressive. But I've noticed something about you."

Spencer arched his eyebrows, apprehensive. "What's that?"

"You get nervous around women. That IQ of 182 goes right down to 0, huh?"

Spencer found himself laughing again. He couldn't remember laughing this much in one night. "An old colleague said something similar." He took a sip of his coffee. "Heidi?"

She looked up from her tea and sandwich. "Yeah?"

"Do you, um…want to go out sometime?" He could feel his anxiety building; he started tapping his foot again.

To his surprise, she responded with, "Yeah, I'd love to get out of here."

He started stammering profusely, his eyes wide. "No, no, I meant a—"

She stopped him. "I was being sarcastic, Reid."

"So…you'd, uh...like to go out?" he swallowed hard. "On a real date?"

She smiled, nodding. "Yeah, I'd like that. I'd like that a lot."

* * *

**Sorry about the rom-com-ness/sappyness of this chapter. I was trying to experiment with how they got to know each other more; let me know what you think. **


	7. Vulnerability

**Disclaimer: I do not own "Criminal Minds." There is a rather smutty sequence ahead, so readers be warned. NSFW, I guess.**

_Spencer felt exposed, but his self-consciousness took an instinctual backseat to something else. It was a pleasurable sensation that Spencer rarely experienced; it heightened his physical awareness, creating tunnel vision in the informal sense, keeping him fixed in the present moment only. Everything was acute; he could feel the sweat on his forehead, in his hair. Some of it dripped down the back of his neck and pooled between his shoulder blades. He was aware that his lips were parted and his breathing came in quick, staccato bursts. He was also aware that another person was in close proximity to him; he felt his lower torso pressed up against flesh. He glanced down and saw Heidi, her hair fanned out above her. Her legs were locked around the small of his back, pushing his pelvis against hers; he was already inside her. He could feel himself inside her; it was a warm and pleasant feeling. _

_He nearly woke himself. He'd only had one other dream of this nature, and that had been about Lila Archer. But, like the last dream, he found it too pleasant to force himself awake. _

_He licked his lips and hooked his arms under Heidi's small frame, lifting her closer. He kissed her, holding the back of her head; he felt strands of hair fall through his fingers. He sucked on her lower lip, brushing his teeth up against hers. She wrapped her arms around him, dragging her fingers down his neck, settling at his shoulder blades. She pulled her face away from him, laughing; she buried her head in the crook of his neck and put her mouth against the hollow space between his shoulder and collarbone. _

_Spencer felt several things at once: he felt her contract around him, but he also felt himself hot inside her, about to slide off of some instinctual edge. With a moan and a gasp, he climaxed; he counted the duration at about nine-point-five seconds._

* * *

Spencer awoke crammed between two hospital chairs. Heidi lay asleep in the hospital bed; she had kicked the blankets off one of her legs, and he looked away so abruptly that it gave him a headache. He pushed himself off his makeshift bed, scurrying out of the room. Once in the cafeteria, he ordered coffee and sat at one of the tables, tapping his foot again. He licked his lip, which eased his anxiety for less time because of the dream. His face felt warm, so he looked at the surface of the table, studying the fake wood.

He must have fallen asleep again, because when he looked up, Heidi was standing over him, in a new set of clothes, her forehead swathed in a fresh bandage. The purple bruising around her eyes made the gray pupils harsher. His phone buzzed in his pocket, alerting him of a new message.

"Spencer, what are you doing here?" She furrowed her brow.

"I could ask you the same." He stood up, smoothing his shirt and running a hand over his face. "Are you in pain?"

"A little. They discharged me this morning," she said as they started walking toward the exit. His coffee was cold now; he tossed it in a nearby trash bin. "The head trauma wasn't bad, so I didn't need to be here much longer. They did give me a prescription for pain medication, and I'm supposed to keep my head elevated."

Spencer's phone pulsed in his pocket, and he jumped. He fished it out, staring bleary-eyed at the small screen. He flipped it open. "Hotch."

"Is Heidi with you?" Hotch's deep voice was cautious.

"Yes. She was discharged this morning."

"Tell her we need you both back at the field office immediately. JJ and Morgan left a car with you this morning and rode back with us. We think we've uncovered something."

* * *

"A cult following?" Heidi squinted. Spencer had just finished explaining Hotch's call. She had to run to keep up with his long strides, and her body ached with the effort. "Spencer, slow down. Broken bones over here. Levi Roush has a cult following?"

Spencer folded himself into the driver's seat; Heidi sat opposite him, and he began to pull the black SUV out of the parking lot.

"We think it's within his Boy Scout network. Hotch said Garcia uncovered at least fifteen other victims."

"Women?"

Spencer set his lips and shook his head. "No. Gay men."

* * *

Garcia was waiting for them at the doorway. There were about ten construction workers around her, tearing down the blackened walls and ceiling; Heidi could hear the drilling from outside. She ushered them in, and Heidi felt her caring energy warm her. She led them into an office, where the rest of the team waited. Heidi pulled out her tablet and, sure enough, a file was waiting in her inbox.

"Okay," Garcia began. "I spoke with Shannon Haines yesterday, who is back at home. But, that's the only good news I have for this morning. She gave us some very important information, so on your mark, get set, terrible."

She pulled up what looked to be the side of a highway. There was a roadside cross lying in the grass. Heidi spotted a patch of skin behind a tree.

"Shannon told me that Levi was a homophobe and that he used to brag to her about killing people. Now, the week before she was hospitalized, he showed her his work." Garcia pulled up a mass grave. Rows and rows of bodies at different stages of decomposition rested side by side. "Following her lead, the police drove out to Waltham and, sure enough, they found this. They found another mass gravesite up in Concord, near Walden Pond reservation. This one was much older."

"How many did the police identify?" Spencer asked, staring at his paper file.

Heidi felt her stomach coil; panic chewed its way through her. Breen had flown back yesterday, and had texted her that he was home, albeit with a stomach flu, but safe.

"Eight," Morgan said. "But it looks like Levi wasn't the first killer. Some of the bodies look to be at least ten years old. He would have been too young. Hotch is right; we're looking for some sort of cult."

"Was Levi's father a Boy Scout too?" JJ asked.

"Yes, he was," Heidi said. "I grew up two towns over, and my brother quit the troop when he was nine because he was afraid of Levi's father. I would put Levi's father at about fifty-six now."

"Given his impending old age," Rossi said, "I would say he passed this on to his son."

"He didn't just pick it up on his own?" JJ asked.

"No," Hotch replied. "I can say with certainty that I've seen family dynamics of this nature. The males in the Roush family, namely Levi and his father, are lacking in appearance. Both have a history of childhood bullying; both have a history of taking solace in their church and their troop. This gave them the confidence they needed to overcome their insecurities and, in a way, exact revenge."

"There's also the MO," Rossi said. "With some of the bodies, the coroner didn't have much to work with, but each had a distinct methodical signature: a cross seared into the forehead, then a bullet to the head. The MO was so precise that I couldn't tell which body was Levi's first kill."

"He didn't kill first," Heidi piped up, and she could feel her own bitterness unfurling in her stomach. "He beat someone half to death. My brother."

Hotch looked over Heidi's head, at Spencer. "Reid, I need to speak with you for a moment."

He nearly pulled Spencer from his seat and out of the room. Heidi looked back at her tablet.

"Who was his first kill?" Morgan asked.

"Jeffrey Corcoran," Garcia said, and Heidi's mouth went dry. "Jeffrey was beaten like the others, shot in the back of the head, and dumped in a pond behind someone's property. This happened—"

"Christmas." Heidi stood, closing her tablet. The pain in her ribs flared with the movement. She winced, wrapping her arms around herself. "Six years ago. He wasn't found until March because that pond froze over."

JJ put her hand on Heidi's back in the same motherly fashion Garcia had earlier. "Did you know Jeffrey Corcoran?"

Heidi nodded. "He was dating my brother. Breen was there when Jeffrey was killed."

She shook JJ off and walked out of the room, nearly bowling into Spencer and Hotch. Hotch reached out and steadied her, while Spencer watched, nervous energy surrounding him like a cloak.

"Bishop, I want you to sit this one out," Hotch's hand was firm on her shoulder. "You're not fully recovered and I cannot have you out in the field with the injuries you've sustained. Your personal connection to this case is going to thwart your objectivity—"

Heidi shook her head, covering her mouth. "I can work from here. My connection to the case would help, Aaron."

"Bishop, I can already see your emotions have taken over. You're starting to lose control, and I don't want the team in jeopardy because of this. I also don't want you to have to relive it. I've asked Reid to sit the case out with you; he'll be with you at all times."

Was he designating Spencer as a shoulder to cry on? Trying to look to Spencer for support was like leaning up against a spider. Heidi crossed her arms, looking at her shoes.

"May I at least call my brother?" she asked. "He's back in New York, but he could have some information."

Hotch nodded. "You may call your brother. But if you are speaking to him about the case, Reid is to be in the room with you."

Hotch clapped Reid on the shoulder before leaving him with Heidi. Spencer bit his lip, watching her. She had a harrowed look on her face; the color had leached from her cheeks and her fingers shook, cradling her elbow. Spencer shuffled closer to her, putting a hand on her shoulder. The door from the lobby opened, and both of them looked up.

A Boston police officer was escorting Levi Roush into the building. Hotch had mentioned that Levi was coming back for more questioning. Levi looked up, not at Spencer but at Heidi, and smirked. Spencer started to say "I need to get you out of here" at the same time Heidi lunged. It took Spencer less than a second to react; he wrapped his arms around Heidi's waist, restraining her. He was careful of her ribs, but heard her cry out.

"Spencer, _let me go_." She bucked up against him, but he tightened his hold on her; his chest pushed up against her back. He felt the bulky bandage dig into the left side of his stomach.

"Heidi, I can't do that," he said. "You're gonna get hurt."

The flat of her hand hit his nose; Spencer freed one arm to restrain both of hers. Heidi was surprisingly small; usually Spencer had to call on Hotch or Morgan to handle something like this. But Heidi's height and build made it easy for Spencer to practically lift her away from the scene with Levi. Some of the policemen reached out to help, but Spencer shook his head.

Levi was escorted down the hallway and Heidi, weak with pain, sagged against Spencer, who let go her hand and waist, putting both his hands on her shoulders. He steered her into an empty office, closing the door after them. The lights came on automatically, and Heidi swayed forward. Spencer reached for her again, somehow catching her in the crook of his left elbow. His lower torso tightened against his will, and he was reminded of the dream. But the Heidi in the dream had been laughing. He looked down at Heidi now; her face was contorted into an expression of pure terror. Tears fell, the area around her eyes a deep purple. The bandage on her forehead had come somewhat loose and hung over one eyebrow.

He moved to fix it, but she spoke first. "Tell Hotch I said thanks for letting me sit this one out."

Terror turned to pain, and she looked at her arms, wrapped around herself. She tried to take a deep breath, but winced. Spencer wiped the tears off her cheeks, from under her eyes, careful of the bruising. She blinked and looked away. He'd always found emotional vulnerability strangely beautiful; perhaps it was something left over from his childhood or his last relationship.

Reid wrapped his arms around Heidi, who was shaking. He had one hand on the back of her head; the other arm was wrapped around her mid-back. Reid's sweater was warm and soft against Heidi, and she locked her fingers around his arm. He smelled like coffee and washing detergent, an oddly comforting scent.

Spencer wasn't exactly the strongest guy she'd encountered, but she was almost certain his personality made up for that, more so than he was conscious of.

* * *

**Longer chapter; hope you guys enjoyed. I've gotten some useful feedback and am trying to use it. Let me know what you think!**


	8. Objectivity

**NOTICE: TRIGGER WARNING FOR VIOLENCE AND STRONG LANGUAGE. This chapter depicts the details of Levi's hate crime. If you see anything that upsets you, please skip over it. I don't want to make anyone upset or uncomfortable.**

* * *

2008.

"Lyle, you'd better come look at this…"

Breen had heard freezing to death wasn't painful in the last moments. He heard, like many other deaths, that it was like falling asleep. The hours of the night had been almost unbearable; he could no longer move his fingers, and his face tingled, blood frozen to his forehead, hair, and cheeks. He'd conserved enough heat to last the night, but his body started to give out about an hour before sunrise.

"He's still alive." There was a voice nearby. "Hey, kid, can you hear me?"

Breen tried to open his mouth, but his lips appeared to be frozen, too. What came out was a pained moan. Someone sliced through his binds, but he felt no rush of circulation in his hands.

"Get him inside and call an ambulance. Ramp the heat up!"

* * *

Breen heard a consistent beeping noise. A bomb? Microwave?

"He must've been out there all night. He's a mess. Moderate head trauma, broken nose and jaw. He's missing some teeth too. His ribs have been cracked, all of them. It looks like frostbite started to set in."

"You think he fell?"

Breen tried to shut these people out, tried to ease himself back into unconsciousness, but he couldn't.

"No, he was beaten. Injuries look like they're consistent with a blunt object, like a baseball bat or a golf club. See this? Spiral fracture. His arms were twisted behind his back."

Jeff. Jeff was there too. They were in Breen's basement…Jeff screamed. There were teeth lying in a pool of blood near the washer. Then something round and squishy like a skinned grape had rolled out and hit Breen's foot… Jeff had dragged himself from behind the washer, mangled, twisted hand over his left eye, and stared Breen right in the face. _HelpmehelpmeohGod_… A man in a gas mask, then the narrow, rat-like features smiling down on Breen, acrid breath in his face… _All fags go to hell…_

Breen leaned up and dry heaved into something soft. The beeping noise sped up. _Beep…beep _became _beepbeepbeepbeeepbeepbeepbeep!_

There was an arm, hard and unyielding, against his chest, then a flurry of voices.

_Sedate him!_

_ Can you hear me?_

_ …going into shock again…_

_ Pupils are dilated, unresponsive…_

_ …seizing up…_

"Jeff!" he screamed. "Jeff! JeffJeffJeff!"

Later he would learn that his scream came out a weak, wet gurgle.

* * *

Present Day.

Breen picked up the video call after the third ping. Heidi tried to push Spencer from the frame, but when her brother answered, all he saw was half of Reid's face.

"Who's this?" His voice was muffled by Spencer, who studied Heidi's phone with the fixed fascination of a child. "Heidi, who is that?"

Heidi elbowed Spencer out of the way and lifted her phone from the table. Spencer stood just outside of the frame, still studying the screen with fascination. He knew the new Apple iPhones were made with diamond, which protected the screen, and the new retina display offered detailed pixels. But Morgan always yanked his phone from Spencer, telling him to get his own. Spencer wasn't actually interested in using the device; he was a technophobe, and the iPhone had always terrified him. But he was fascinated with it in the way a toddler would be fascinated with a bug: terrified of it, but curious nonetheless.

"Red, who was that?" Breen was in his bed, a glass of orange juice in his hand.

Heidi shot a sideways glare at Spencer, who cleared his throat and looked away, crossing his arms.

"It's nobody," she replied, almost laughing when Spencer's head snapped up. "How are you feeling?"

"Better today," he said, setting the glass on the nightstand. "Doctor said I should recover in a few days."

Heidi wondered how to best broach the subject of Levi Roush. She couldn't sense Breen's energy over a video call, but she guessed he wanted to talk about it less than she wanted to.

"How are the ribs?"

"Don't make me laugh," Heidi replied. "Hurts the most. That and coughing. Other than that, not too bad, at least with the painkillers." Heidi took an achey lungful of air before continuing. "Breen, I wanted to talk to you about a case I'm working on."

Breen rolled his eyes before continuing. "This is about Levi Roush, isn't it? I knew that bastard would come back and bite me in the ass."

Heidi's throat tightened, and her stomach went cold. "How did you know?"

"That kid told me about it." Breen said, squeezing the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "While you were asleep."

"Bree, what kid? What the hell are you talking about?" She knew he got nightmares, knew from what he told her about his PTSD meds that if he went off of them, he started hallucinating and the flashbacks got worse. "Have you been taking your meds?"

"Dude, Heidi, chill out!" Breen's hand knocked the phone sideways. Once he righted it, he continued, "Sorry. Sometimes you're too much like Mom. I'm talking about the doctor kid who was in the hospital with you. I came back later in the night to check on you, and you were out cold. So I talked to him. Dr. Reeves or whatever. The one who kept checking out your legs."

Spencer's head snapped up again, and Heidi saw, out of the corner of her eye, that his face was coloring. He covered his face with his hands and turned around, scurrying into a corner of the room.

"He kept looking at them." Breen continued relentlessly. "It was like he'd never seen legs before. It was so funny, like you kicked the blankets off and he would stare at your legs and look away like he was peeping or some shit. He's kind of awkward, but it's adorable. He's really smart, though. Y'know, I think he's into-"

"Bree, he's in the room with me!" Heidi's face started to heat up, and she squeezed her eyes shut, the energy in the room coiling tight like a spring. Spencer paced back and forth, hand over his mouth.

Breen went silent for a few seconds, pondering the bedspread. "So…Levi Roush. What do you guys want to know?"

"Anything you can remember," Heidi said softly.

Breen's features twisted into a glare of sorts. "So the whole thing? You want me to tell you the whole thing from start to finish? Why?"

"It's the case we're working. Gay men are turning up in mass graves with the same MO. Any information you can give us would be helpful."

The color slithered from Breen's face, and he looked like he was about to vomit. He covered his mouth. "More are dying?"

"I'm afraid so, Bree." Heidi's hands were sweating against the table. "The rest of my team is out in the field. Spencer and I are working from here."

Breen's eyes were wet, shiny around the pupils. "How many? How many are dead?"

Heidi shook her head. "Bree, that's not something you want to know."

"_How many?_" Breen's voice scraped up against his throat. "I want to know how many, Heidi."

Heidi sighed, glancing over at Spencer, who was watching her with concern. "We found fifteen in a mass gravesite near Waltham, and another fifteen up near Walden Pond in Concord. I'm so sorry, Bree."

Heidi saw tears rolling down Breen's palid face. "I'm glad your people are out there trying to help. What can I do?"

Heidi cleared her throat, taking a seat. "What was happening that night? I mean, before the attack? Was there anything off?"

* * *

2008.

"Jeff, did you leave the back door open?" Breen slammed it shut, spilling some of his drink on the floor.

"Fuck," he muttered. He mopped it up with his sock before the cat could get to it.

Jeff was sprawled on the couch, eating from a bag of Doritos. Breen took the bag from him, hungry from the joints they'd both just smoked. He stuffed a handful in his mouth, rolling the bag up and throwing it at Jeff, who playfully kicked him in the left ass cheek. Breen leaned down and kissed Jeff, his breath warm and cheesy, his tongue ridged with crumbs.

"You gonna let me stay over?" Jeff sat up, his blond hair falling over his eyes, Breen's favorite look.

Jeff's lips were big and fleshy, so when his hair fell into his eyes, it looked like some sort of seductive gesture. Breen got going just watching Jeff move; he was slender, slight, with a gait Breen liked to call the "catwalk." Jeff started to saunter over to the kitchen, and Breen wrapped his arms around Jeff's waist, burying his nose in the blond hair. Jeff smelled like vodka and cheese, but Breen didn't mind. He trailed kisses up and down Jeff's neck, who let out a little grunt.

"Of course," Breen murmured, steering Jeff in the direction of his room.

A light went on in the basement, and both of them froze on the stairs.

"Shit." Breen let go of Jeff. "Mom's not supposed to be home yet. It's only eleven!"

"You want me to go?" Jeff's whispers were slurred.

Breen was about to nod yes when he heard heavy footfalls on the basement stairs. Mom was not a heavy walker; she had kitten feet and barely made any noise. Maybe it was Dad, but then why would he leave the party without Mom?

Breen was about to grab Jeff and lurch up the stairs, but Jeff wasn't looking at him anymore. He was looking past him.

"_R__un!_" Jeff screamed.

Breen whirled. Behind him stood a gas-masked figure. He wore a black sweatshirt and bulky black sweatpants, with military-like combat boots. In his right hand was a golf club. Breen tried to get Jeff up the stairs, but the masked figure was faster. The golf club collided with the back of Breen's skull, and he toppled backward down the stairs.

* * *

Present Day.

"He was already in the house?" Heidi watched Breen wrap a stray thread around his finger.

"I think so. Jeff and I were up in the loft for a while. The back door must've been open for Mom's cat."

Heidi remembered that cat; it had died shortly after Breen's incident. Everything seemed to center around that incident. Events leading up to it were sucked into it, tied to it, and everything after it was a slow, falling limbo, like the zenith of their lives had already passed. Breen's trauma was like a unit of measurement: two years before, five years after.

"Mom left that door open a lot," Breen continued, "because there was a glass door behind it. There was a mini cat door there too. That glass door was really fucking hard to lock. I think that night I tried, but just gave up."

Heidi figured Levi must have been in the basement for a while, lying in wait. That basement was huge, a man cave her father had blown a bonus from work on. There was a door leading to the boiler room, she remembered. That boiler was loud; their house was old, at least 200 years old at that point, and when they'd first moved in, they'd spent more money on installing up-to-date appliances than they had on the actual house.

"What happened next, Bree?" Heidi pushed gently. "If you feel uncomfortable, just mute the call, okay?"

Breen nodded. The color had not returned to his cheeks. His lips were ashen too, and he took gulps of orange juice, wiping his mouth with the sleeve on his t-shirt.

"I woke up in the basement, near the washer. My head hurt like a bitch."

* * *

2008.

Breen's head felt about ten times its size. He tried to move his arms, but they were twisted behind his back. He tried to yell, but something soft and fuzzy was stuffed in his mouth; his tongue was dry. He heard someone crying, high-pitched wails like a baby.

"Shut up!" The masked figure was standing over the washer, glaring at something behind it.

"Don't do this, please!" Jeff's voice. "I haven't done anything wrong!"

The figure swung out, this time with a baseball bat, and there was a crunching sound. Several small, hard objects hit the floor with a wet _clink, _and it took Breen a moment to realize they were teeth. The teeth lay in a pool of blood, along with Jeff's watch and a handful of hair.

"You're a sinner." The voice was higher than Breen had thought: a boy's voice. "You're an inverted being, a Devil. You made the choice, now you have to pay for it."

"You're crazy!" Jeff's voice was weak now.

The man shook his head, the gas mask moving mechanically back-and-forth, like a broken bobble head.

"It's God's will." The baseball bat swung out again, and Breen winced.

Blood was soaking into Breen's shoes. Something round and squishy rolled out from behind the washer, stopping at Breen's foot. Jeff's eye stared up at him, and he screamed against the fabric in his mouth.

A mangled hand locked around the edge of the washer, and Jeff appeared, his free hand twisted and covering his left eye. "Help me!" he screamed. "Oh, God! Please, Breen! Wake up! Help me!"

Breen smelled something else: burning. It was heavy and had a sweet edge to its scent. There was a glowing poker of sorts lying on the floor. Jeff's forehead was red, but Breen could make out a small shape there: a cross.

Then the masked man was in his face. With a shaky gloved hand, he lifted the gas mask from his head. The dark hair was matted to the forehead, but the narrow, rodent features were unmistakable. Levi Roush leered down at Breen, and Breen could see himself in the reflection of Levi's glasses: his face was covered in blood, and there were bruises flowering all over his forehead, mouth, eyes, and cheeks. Levi grabbed Breen by the chin, but Breen was too weak to scream.

Levi's breath was acrid, smelling of beer and beef jerky. "All fags go to hell."

He raised the baseball bat, which collided with Breen's forehead, knocking him out.

* * *

Present Day.

"God's will?" Heidi narrowed her eyes. Spencer was scribbling furiously into a notepad. "That's a stretch, but okay."

"Jeff was shot." Breen leaned back against his pillows. "But I got lucky. The garage door opened. Mom was coming home. Levi panicked. Must've knocked me out again. I woke up in his trunk. Jeff was lying on the ground, but he was still moving. Levi kind of lifted him, put a pistol to his head, and shot him. Next thing I know, I'm tied to a gas kiosk."

"Was there anyone else with him?" Heidi asked, her hands knit in her lap.

Breen's features contorted, and then he muted the call. Heidi watched in horror as he tugged at his hair, covering his face with both hands. To her relief, there was no cross on his forehead. She stood up, tapping at the phone screen helplessly, as if that would calm him. This went on for about thirty more seconds, during which Spencer circled around the table and put his hands on Heidi's shoulders. The sound came back on, and Breen's hair was sticky-looking with sweat.

"There was another guy. In the trunk, I could hear them arguing from outside. They were arguing about who should dump the body. The other guy's name was…it started with a W. Whip, I think."

Heidi pitched into her seat.

"Whip," she said to Breen. "There was another boy in that gymnasium with me. His name was Whip."

"I guess they're partners, or something," Breen said. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm good." She pulled her sleeves over her hands. "That's all I have for questions. I'll get this to Agent Hotchner and I'll run Whip by our technical analyst. Thank you, Breen. You helped a lot."

"Levi's in jail, though." Breen's voice was soft. "You think someone else took after him?"

"We don't know that yet," Spencer said, eclipsing Heidi's view of Breen. His jacket still smelled like coffee. "Nothing has turned up, but it's highly likely that someone else will start killing in Levi's place."

Breen was silent for a second. "Let me know if you hear anything. I want to keep helping. But I have to go now. Max is gonna be home from work soon."

Before Heidi could say anything, Breen ended the call. Heidi pocketed her phone, standing and turning to look at Spencer. His expression was empathetic, and he put a hand on her shoulder again. The height difference between the two of them was almost comical, but Heidi put her hand on Spencer's, wrapping her fingers around his. His fingers were long and soft, almost musician-like.

"I'm gonna be staying with my cousin," Heidi started. "She lives on Beacon Hill. Since Hotch put me under house arrest with you, you want to stay with us? There's a spare couch in her living room."

Spencer nodded, clearing his throat. "Um…sure. Do you want to go get a cup of coffee?"

Heidi smiled, trying to distract herself. "Talking about that 'real date,' now aren't we? You know any good places?"

Spencer nodded vigorously. "I come to Boston a lot during my vacation time. It's kind of like an extension of London, with the rain and the architecture, you know? London's one of my favorite cities; I've visited 221b Baker Street at least two times."

Spencer still had his hand on Heidi's shoulder when the door flew open and Hotch stood outside, taking up the entire frame.

"Sir." Heidi wriggled away from Spencer. "I spoke with my brother. He gave us some really good information."

Hotch nodded, glancing at Spencer's notepad. "Reid, I hope you got everything down, because the Waltham town sheriff just called. They discovered another body this morning."

Heidi mumbled, "shit," swinging out and knocking a container of pens off the office table. She then proceeded to kick over the chairs. The movement hurt her left side, but she was too angry to really notice. Her hair somehow wrenched itself out of her elastic and tumbled over her shoulders, covering her face.

"Bishop!" Hotch full-on yanked her from the room. He stood over her, at least six feet to her five-two. Spencer watched in awe as she huffed at Hotch, trying to push him away. "Enough." He grabbed her arms, shaking her, and she went still. "One more outburst, and I am sending you back to Quantico. Do you understand?"

Heidi nodded, a bitter taste in her mouth, and marched back into the empty office to clean up her mess. Hotch stormed in the opposite direction, taking a call from Garcia.

"Heidi, wait," Spencer said, scurrying after her, trying to avoid collision with Hotch.

She was slamming chairs and pens back into place, her knuckles bone-white. When she looked up, Spencer couldn't help but notice the way her long, waist-length strawberry-red hair framed her small face. He strode towards her, putting his hands on both her upper arms, almost holding her. He felt the sinews there, even from under her shirt.

"If you need to," he started, "you can go back to Quantico, and you can take me with you."

She stared up at him, gray eyes wide as a doll's, pupils in stark contrast to the bluish-purple bruising. Then the concealed, guarded expression returned, and she shook her head.

"Spencer…" she started. Even though her tone was frustrated, Reid liked the way she said his name. She seemed completely unafraid to be straightforward with him. Not just honest, but straightforward. To Spencer, there was a rather large difference. Her voice was soft when she continued, "I'm fine. No more outbursts."

Hair covered half of one eye; some of it stuck to her bandage. Spencer licked his lips and gently eased his finger under the thick hair, moving it from her face. Though he almost never had a preference pertaining to hair (rarely he would think of his own), he almost wanted to tell Heidi he preferred hers loose, unbound. It was soft under his fingers, and she stayed in place as he tucked it behind her ear. Hair was just a bunch of dead cells anyway, growing about half an inch a month. And attraction was caused by a surge of chemicals in the brain, one of them serotonin, from which chemical effects produced infatuation. Attraction and love were two things Spencer couldn't intellectually explain when _he _felt them. He looked back to Heidi's face, her eyes, and willed himself at least to be intellectually honest. If he were intellectually honest, he could admit that he, as Morgan called it, "liked" Heidi. He could also feel it evolving into something else, and he wanted that something else, so he proceeded, out of pure intellectual honesty, to lean toward Heidi.

Spencer's lips, Heidi noticed, were rather plump and simpery, out of place with his personality. He was close enough so that she could see the outline of his cheekbones under his skin. His nose was narrow; his facial features were generally narrow, but it was an attractive, delicate kind of narrow. His features were pretty, too pretty for a man, but somehow they worked. She noticed there were dark circles under his eyes, something she hadn't picked up on before. There was a silhouette of facial hair above his upper lip.

The energy in the room was a mixture of confliction and desire; it came off of Spencer like a perfume. He started to lean toward her, and she waited for it, knew what was coming next. His hair was downy against her forehead; she could feel it in places the bandage didn't cover. She let her eyes flutter shut, and she put her hands in the creases of his elbows. She felt the slightest warmth against her lips, the tiniest pressure on her mouth, not quite a kiss.

Spencer's lips brushed up against hers, and she was about to let it escalate into a real kiss. But, at the last minute, she decided she couldn't allow it. Her objectivity was already down the drain, why remove what was left? Besides, wasn't it only a few days ago that Spencer had been giving her a migraine? She put a hand to Spencer's chest and stopped him. As she pulled away, shaking her head, he made a noise, his eyes opening. His brow crunched, and she felt his disappointment sink into her.

"No?" He was warm, his sweater soft under her palm, but he was hurt, slighted.

"No, Spencer." Spencer's eagerness wrapped itself around her like an embrace, but her rejection started to bite through it, cold and rigid. "It's not that I don't..." She groaned, staring at her shoes. "I do, Spencer, I do. But not here. Not like this."

She felt something for him, and she knew he had feelings for her; it was there in his energy. He looked down at her, nodding. He was not angry. Maybe a little dejected, but not angry.

"I understand," he said. Of course he did. He moved his hands to her elbows. "I can't imagine what this case must be like for you, and I study human behavior. I'm also a genius. But I understand."

There was a hint of a laugh, and Heidi smiled. She leaned up, having to stand on her tiptoes, and kissed Spencer's cheek. His skin was smooth, and she felt him lean into her. She pulled away, smiling at him.

"Thank you, Spencer," she said, lowering herself. "Guys like you don't come around here everyday."

With that, she stepped away from him and walked out the door, hand over her lips.

Spencer stared after her, his mind, as it seldom was, in a fog.

* * *

**wow, ok, that was a lot covered in one chapter. apologies if this one was kind of like an emotional roller-coaster. spence and heidi sittin' in a tree...F-A-N-S-E-R-V-I-C-E! please let me know what you all think. will update very soon, and that's a promise. thanks for the reviews and follows!**


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